Masterpiece made modern man,
Fill the heart with nothing old.
Sweeter spur summoned soul,
Watch the midnight stars unfold.
Battle ballad bold, battered;
All that is shall go untold.
Isaac Olajos
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We sat on the edge of nothing,
falling like stars,
destined to disappear.
Like strangers in the small hours,
watching the clock as time cowers,
threatened by what had yet to come.
So we stopped.
On the edge of nothing,
We simply created.
Isaac Olajos
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A face we wore to help forget,
the sins we hold,
we too regret.
To hide our hands,
full heavy gold.
To mountains clamber,
too, friends we’ve sold.
A mask we filled with false amend,
for sins untold,
the sins of men.
Isaac Olajos
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A language lost,
our souls do keep.
The guiding hand
of man too bleak.
One does ponder,
a thought divine.
To write them down
and calm our mind.
A common script,
to not forget.
A fact of fiction
our lives to bet.
Isaac Olajos
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A common goal, to find a soul.
To wander not,
yet wander whole.
A group does gather,
to not forget;
such common goals,
we will regret.
Isaac Olajos
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Beauty built on fear of death,
Our hearts beat time to feel distress.
Chiselled names in marble tolled,
Build a god to not grow old.
Stand in columns, sweat we’re sold,
Carved to ward an end untold.
Beauty built in ploy of death,
Whom needs no stone to steal our breath.
Isaac Olajos
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Fear the future the white-coats have said.
For the future is near,
And our future is dead.
Trust in science the suits beseech.
Yet science is flawed,
Its outcome is bleak.
We will prevail the people do cry,
Prevail over what?
For our dawn is but nigh.
Isaac Olajos
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Time has no place here.
The throne of man cowers in the shadow,
For once our greatest kingdoms fall;
The trees will have but blinked.
Writing profound poetry of legacy and death,
Scratching the blood of ink into the white flesh of history,
Praying that our consciousness lives on.
We fear that we will be nothing,
That no man will rejoice in our wake,
That our greatest triumphs will fade into apathy.
Isaac Olajos
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Take this robot heart,
and tear it apart.
Just to build it, again
Take my silly head,
and fill it with these lies you said,
Because these lies,
They make me happy.
and I can’t feel a thing,
I can’t feel a thing.
I can’t feel a thing, anymore.
So help me,
build me up again,
From the ground.
It’s those little things,
that you do
That have got me, chasing you.
It’s those words,
that you just don’t say.
That have got me, scared away.
and I can’t feel a thing,
I can’t feel a thing.
I can’t feel a thing, anymore.
Isaac Olajos
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The scent of diesel.
Lungs a cage, fighting breath for joy.
Monsters purring line the tar,
Like trains to towns unknown.
Returning grins forced a mask,
Weaved by hearts who mourn.
Further and further that carriage drove,
Till its roar was but a drone.
Typhoons; arms and legs whirl around,
As busy as death at the weeks birth,
Yet seconds feel like days,
And days mean nothing.
Organs churning, filing fragments,
Shreds of thoughts tongues do not touch,
For ears that hear will feed It.
I tread on; Spitting into the wind, pressing on when the heat was more than one could hone.
I long to hear those fiends again,
Their hearts will bring me home,
Waiting for the day,
When they fail to let alone.
-Isaac Olajos
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